Robotic
by daphrose
Summary: Danger is just part of the programming.
1. Chapter 1

**And another new story this week! Woo! I am on fire. Let me tell you, it feels good to be back. :3 Also, this is my fiftieth story, so hooray for that! Only halfway to a hundred! Think I could reach that number by my second anniversary? ;)**

**Mmm, this came from theories about Marcus's childhood. It's kinda strange, but I still wanted to share it. If you guys ever have ideas for this story, I would love to hear them. Each chapter tends to be a bit more like a one-shot, I guess, but some will be connected. Especially towards the end.**

**This story is rated T for criminal activates and mentions of some not-so-friendly stuff. This is delving into the world of the Lab Rats villains. Things get complicated. I hope I'm all right at portraying this stuff. O.o**

**I don't own Lab Rats, but Mr. Cameron Bryson is mine. Enjoy!**

* * *

*** * * Chapter 1 * * ***

* * *

I slipped into the soft leather chair and placed my fingers on the keys. With inhuman speed I began to type, scrolling through lists of various codes. My eyes flicked back and forth as I broke down the firewalls.

"You'll be proud, Dad," I whispered. "I'll make you proud."

In the computer screen I could see my own reflection. Plain brown hair and brown eyes—Dad didn't want me to draw too much attention to myself. That was okay. It was easy to blend in, to slip into a sea of humanity and trick them into thinking I was one of them. I wasn't.

No, I wasn't a person. But everyone who met me thought I was. Did I care that I wasn't human? Not really. It was something I was used to; I didn't know any other way. Like someone growing up with a peanut allergy. They can't have peanuts, so to them, they're not missing out on anything. But to the lover of peanut butter, the allergic person is someone to be pitied.

I didn't feel any self-pity. Even knowing that my own life had a deadline didn't make me feel uneasy or worthless. On the contrary, it made me all the more determined to make the most of the time I had. There's a strange freedom in knowing one's expiration date. Unless something went drastically wrong—and I would see to it that it wouldn't—I would know the day I was going to die, down to the minute. Dad hadn't told me that day yet, but I knew he would when the time was right. I never had a fear of death—or whatever it would be for me. I didn't fear the moment of deactivation, when I was swept into oblivion, when the world would forever forget my name. I wasn't afraid to face it. Dad would tell me the date long before it came, and I didn't waste time agonizing over the prospect of sudden illness or injury finishing me off. I would have time to prepare; time to say goodbye. It was liberating.

But I was yet a long way from that day. For now, I would be doing everything that was asked of me, and even some of what wasn't. I plugged the file into the computer and grinned when the desired codes came onto the screen. Then it all disappeared, and slowly an image of a map came into focus. I hit the "command" and "P" keys at the same time, and the printer in Dad's office downstairs began to whir. I hopped up from my chair and hurried down the stairs, waiting patiently for all four sheets to come out.

"Marcus, are you printing another math worksheet?" a voice called from the kitchen.

"No, Dad!" I called back.

"Well you should. You should be working on your times tables."

"Dad, I can do polynomial long division. I don't need to do times tables!"

The only response I got was a muffled grunt, followed by the _ding _of our toaster. I took that as my cue to leave.

Once I was back up in my room, I grabbed a red marker out of the drawer, sat back down in my chair, and laid out all four sheets of paper in the correct position. "Oh, this is way more important than times tables," I whispered, circling the prime locations I already knew on the map. I stuck the marker between my teeth and began to type again, absorbing as much information as I could. Every time I made a discovery, I circled a new location on the map.

It was several hours later when I heard a sharp knock at the door. I jerked up, startled, having been absorbed in my work. The handle of the door turned and Dad walked in.

"Okay, I'm not really worried about you, but according to the state I'm your legal guardian, and I'm responsible for your education."

"Since when do you care about what the state says?"

Dad squinted and suddenly shook his head. "I'm not really worried about you, but I feel like I should check up to make sure you're . . . what are you doing?"

I looked down at the map and all the red circles I had drawn on it. I couldn't help but grin proudly. "I'm helping you," I said.

Dad sighed. "Marcus, I already told you . . ."

"I know, I know, I'm just a kid. But hear me out! I've been doing research for hours, and I've found a whole bunch of potential buyers in the area. Here, see, I drew it all on the map. The thicker circles are the ones with more money who are more likely to buy things, but they're really all over the place if you look—"

"Marcus!" my dad snapped, cutting me off. He sighed again and gripped the bridge of his nose. "I can't let you help me on this. Stay out of it!"

"No!" I protested. The time had come for me to say something. I wouldn't waste away for another second. "I want to help you! I can do this! Dad, you made me so I could do great things. Please, Dad, I want to do _something_."

He was silent for a few moments, and I began to hope that he was seriously thinking it over.

"This is what you made me for," I said, using that as my final and most powerful point.

"You're right," he said finally. "You're right. But it's not easy."

"I didn't think it would be."

He frowned a bit, then bowed his head. "Fine," he said. "You can help me." Just as I was about to cheer, he knelt down in front of me and gripped my arms. Staring into my eyes, he continued, "But you have to promise me something."

"Yes, Dad?" I asked warily.

"You have to promise that you will never tell them what you really are."

"You mean . . . an android?"

"Yes. If they found out, Marcus, they'd tear you apart. They'd take you away from me. I can't lose another one of my creations. It can't happen again."

I swallowed. My dad had told me about the bionic projects. Our ultimate goal was to get them back, but it would take a very long time. Meanwhile, Dad had his business to attend to. It was a dangerous business, and sometimes he would come home with an injury or illness that I knew was no accident. Still, it was intriguing. And Dad was always okay in the end.

"I won't tell anyone," I said. "Cross my heart and hope to die." I promptly drew two fingers in an "X" shape over my chest. It was a childish move, but then again, I was a child, wasn't I?

Dad nodded slowly. "Good," he said. "Good. Having you on my side . . . well, that just might be a very good idea." He began to smile. "Come on, Marcus. It's time I introduce you to my business."

* * *

Downstairs I could hear my dad gathering his things together. I smiled and hopped off my bed, grabbing my coat from where it hung on the knob of my dresser. I pulled the sleeves over my arms and bounded down the stairs, reaching the bottom just in time to come face-to-face with Dad as he headed out the door.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, kid!" he said, putting a hand on my shoulder to stop me. "Where do you think you're going?"

"With you," I said, trying to walk out the door. Dad moved in front of me, blocking my path.

"No, you're not," he said, shaking his head.

"But you said I could help!"

"You did help. You made that map, remember? I've already contacted Cameron Bryson, the one on Walnut Street. I'm going to show him some of my stuff." Dad patted his briefcase proudly.

"And I'll help you."

"No," he said firmly. "You can help me organize all you want. In fact, I appreciate it. But you are not going with me to a client's house."

"I can handle it!"

"You've never met these people. If all goes well, you never will."

"But I—"

"There's no point in arguing, Marcus." Dad walked out the door without another word to me. It clicked as he locked it from the outside.

I was left there, blue coat draped over my back, stunner tucked in my boot, and all my dreams crushed by my father. I scowled and leaned against the wall, arms folded across my chest.

"I'll show you," I said finally. "I can handle this."

The door opened with a creak and I peeked out. Dad's car was already down the street. It rounded the corner as I stepped out. I locked the door with the spare key in my pocket.

_Walnut Street_. I knew exactly where that was. Mr. Bryson's house would not be hard to find; I had the coordinates memorized from looking at the map. I used my super-speed to get to the location in just a few seconds.

Then came the annoying process of waiting. I figured it would be best, as boring as it was. I crouched in the bushes outside the large mansion—yes, Mr. Bryson was a millionaire—and watched the street. It took a few minutes for Dad's old red truck to pull up near the fountain in front of the house. He got out with his briefcase, knocked on the door, and was let in right away.

I hurried up onto the porch and knelt down in front of the door. This was the moment of truth. I flexed my fingers and concentrated on the lock. My bionics weren't fully trained yet, and my molecularkinesis was hard. There were several clicks, and suddenly the door swung open. I silently congratulated myself and slipped inside.

The foyer was elegant, with decorative plants and a jeweled banister on the stairs. "Hard to believe this is the house of a criminal," I whispered.

There were voices coming from down the hall. One of them I recognized as my dad. Quietly I walked closer, making sure to stay out of sight. Soon they ducked through a doorway. I waited a few seconds before walking forward and opening the door myself.

I was surprised to find that I was in some sort of closet. The walls were sheer metal and very close. Only I fit in there. "What the—?" I said softly.

The door closed with a clang and everything went dark. Something under me snapped and before I knew what was going on, I was hanging in the air, apparently suspended by some kind of net. The three walls that made up the "closet" slid to the ground.

"Marcus!" I froze at my dad's angry voice.

"Oh, hi," I said sheepishly. I managed to turn myself around to see Dad with his arms folded across his chest. Beside him was a burly man with a white mustache. The room we were in now was full of computer screens and chemistry equipment.

"Do you know this kid?" the other man said gruffly.

Dad sighed. "He's my . . . son. My son."

"Um, hello," I said. "I'd give you a handshake, but I'm afraid I can't reach you. Mr. Bryson, I presume?"

"He's quite bright for a child," Mr. Bryson said.

"He's gifted," Dad said between gritted teeth. "Marcus, get down from there!"

"I'd love too," I said, "but only your friend can get me down." Of course, I could use the saws in my fingers to cut myself out of the net, but Mr. Bryson couldn't know about my bionics.

The millionaire pushed a button on a nearby computer console. The net dropped to the floor and opened, and I crawled out.

"You brought your kid, Douglas?" he asked.

"No," Dad said crisply.

"Oh, was I not supposed to come?" I said, rubbing the back of my head. "I guess I misunderstood this whole thing."

"You're in big trouble." Dad's voice wasn't accusing or loud, but I could hear the anger boiling beneath the surface.

"Aw, lay off the kid, Dougie," Mr. Bryson said. His tone betrayed his amusement. "Got three boys of my own. Mischievous little buggers."

"I _told _him to stay home."

"Your son, you say? He ought to learn about your business someday."

"That's what I said!" I interrupted.

"Marcus, was it?" My. Bryson continued. "Come see this."

I followed the man further into the lab-like room, dodging Dad when he tried to grab my shoulder. There were several beakers on a counter in the center of the room, all bubbling with strange substances.

"Poisonous," Mr. Bryson said loudly, like he was leading a tour. "All of them. Do you know what poisonous means, boy?"

I came close to making a snarky comment, but I bit my tongue and replied, "They're deadly."

"All of them!" he repeated proudly. "But not all of them kill. Some of them . . . let's just say they change people. How about I test one out on your father? I kid, I kid!" he added with a laugh when he saw my shocked expression.

"Ha ha," Dad said dryly.

"They change people. Make them act different. Make them act how I want them to. Pretty amazing how people will act with this stuff. Pretty amazing. Douglas, you have a new way for me to administer them?"

Dad put his briefcase on the counter, avoiding my gaze. He opened the case to reveal a set of glass cups.

"That's it?" I asked. "That's all?"

"I'm agreeing with the kid right now, Douglas. You're presentation is lacking. Come on, man, wow me!"

"See the fog on the glass of the cups?" Dad said, holding up one for demonstration. "That's not for decoration. It's for concealment. Notice how the outside of the glass is thick. There's a thin space between the outside of the glass and the inside, enough to hold a small amount of liquid. The bottom of the glass comes off, like so. Simply pour in the desired poison, replace the bottom, and put the drink into the cup. The poison is slowly and inconspicuously released as someone drinks it."

"Brilliant!" Mr. Bryson exclaimed. "See, boy, that's why they call your father a genius. Brilliant, I say! It will be quite easier to slip a poison in to my guests. Douglas, you are a genius."

"I know," my dad said with his signature smirk.

"You teach your boy these things. Marco? No, Marcus. Marcus, boy, you become like your dad, you hear me? Douglas, teach him well. He'll grow up to be just like his dad."

"That's all I've ever wanted," I muttered.

"What was that? Oh, never mind. You just learn, Marcus. You go with your dad to places like this. You learn his trade. You hear me?"

"I hear, I hear!" I said.

"Douglas, I'll order some of those glasses. You've got different sizes, do you? Show me. Different sizes. Yes. Oh, Douglas, I will never doubt your brilliance!"

Dad and Mr. Bryson discussed the details such as the price and number of cups. I studied the beakers, entertaining myself by scanning their molecular makeup.

Eventually they finished up and we headed back into the foyer. "Thank you for coming, Douglas," Mr. Bryson said. "Lovely cups. Brilliant. You know me; more into chemicals and employing them than all those gadgets. A simple man, really. You might not believe it, but I am. Simple man. And your boy. I'm glad he came. You teach him well. And boy, you listen to your father. He's got a lot to teach you. A lot. Come back, now! And Marcus, you haven't learned yet. Learn now. Don't ever take a drink from me." He winked before ushering us out the door. "Goodbye, goodbye!"

The ride back home was silent most of the way. Finally I broke it by saying, "At least I didn't ruin the deal."

"This is about more than just the deal, Marcus," Dad said coolly. "Mr. Bryson is a talker. I was hesitant to do business with him in the first place because he might spread word that I'm alive. Luckily I have . . . _something _over him. He hasn't said a word, which is impressive."

"Then just use that _something_ to keep him from talking about me!"

"That's not the same. What am I supposed to say? 'Don't tell anyone I have a son'? That'll lead to more questions, and ones that we can't answer." Dad sighed. "And now you're going to want to do this again."

"Yup," I said. "Dad, I _am _ready. And if I'm not, teach me! This is what you created me for."

Dad sighed again. "You know what? If you want to be involved in this, fine. But just know that if you are, you might not even make it to your expiration date."

"I don't care. This is exciting. It makes life more enjoyable, no matter how long I have."

Dad smirked. "The government wouldn't agree with that. All right, Marcus. It looks like I've finally got a partner again."

* * *

**Mr. Bryson was ****_so _****much fun to write. Too much fun, I think. XD How did you guys like him? How about this first chapter? I know this is kind of weird. I don't know if this story will be any good. To be honest, I'm pretty nervous about it. I hope you guys will still enjoy it anyway, even if some chapters turn out to be pretty bad.**

**Like I said earlier, if you have any ideas, I would love to hear them. I need a lot of help on this story, honestly. Leave ideas in reviews or PM me and we can talk about the story as a whole.**

**Hopefully this story will turn out okay and I won't regret posting it. Do you guys like it so far? Should I continue? Updates will most likely be infrequent; I apologize. Here and there and pretty random, probably. Still, I'll try not to keep you waiting for too long.**

**Thanks for reading, everyone! Reviews are much appreciated. See you guys next time. Bye!**


	2. Chapter 2

**To be honest, I don't like this chapter very much. -_- I wrote it while I was still coming off writer's block, and I don't think it turned out very well. Still, it's necessary to the story. I shall now introduce a new/old character who is vitally important. And by the way, this chapter is based off a lot of what Douglas said in Sink or Swim. I don't want to hear "It couldn't have happened yet!" because, according to Douglas, this is ****_exactly _****when it happened.**

**I don't own Lab Rats or its characters. Enjoy!**

* * *

*** * * Chapter 2 * * ***

* * *

Dad threw another bill onto the counter and stared at it like it was poison. "I hate being an adult," he growled. Then he jabbed a finger at me and said, "Stop eating! It just costs more money!"

Obediently—though reluctantly—I put down the sandwich. Of course I didn't need to eat to survive, but for me food was a treat. I_ liked _to eat. I also liked obeying Dad. He was winning . . . for now.

"You sell weapons to billionaires," I said while he stormed around the kitchen, grumbling to himself. "How do you not have any money?"

He stopped and combed his hair with his fingers. "I _do _have money. And I can pay all these bills . . . eventually. The real problem is my bionic research."

"Is that why you haven't bothered to train me in six months?"

"Part of it. I get enough cash from my inventions to pay for the parts and feed you and me. But I need extra money for the bionics. I've tried getting people to invest in me, but they all think it's a waste of time. They don't understand how powerful it is. We're talking about the next generation of humans here! If they gave me the money to perfect it, they'd be giving me the money to change the world."

"What if I could find you someone who would pay for the bionic research?"

Dad flinched and glared at me. "I already said that your help in my work is going to be limited."

"Oh, come on! I've been sitting at home for six whole years of my life. I'm wasting away over here!"

Dad put a hand on my shoulder and leaned down so he was eye level with me. "You'll be dead if you're not careful out there!" He clapped me on the shoulder and started pacing around the kitchen again.

"You could die too, and you still do it."

"But you're a kid!"

"I'm a robot."

"You're still a kid."

"Dad!"

"Marcus!"

"Mr. Bryson wanted you to teach me."

"He also wanted me to build him a robotic pet monkey. The man's not sane."

"Are any of them?"

"No! That's my point." Dad scowled. "Quit trying to argue with me. And . . . go do schoolwork or something."

I got up from the table and started heading to my room. "Fine. But don't expect a 'World's Best Dad' mug for Christmas this year."

Dad, being Dad, replied, "All right, I'll just get it for myself."

A few minutes later I was up at my desk studying various chemical reactions. What was the point of this stuff? I already knew it. According to the state, Dad homeschooled me. Of course, according to the state, I didn't even exist. But if I did, I was homeschooled. Studying at home, learning things I already knew by heart. It was boring.

It didn't take long for me to hop on my computer and start doing more research. I knew more than Dad thought I did. The criminal underground was extensive, but I was able to learn about it bit by bit. This time I was looking for prospective buyers who might be interested in funding bionic research . . . and who would also keep their mouths shut.

There were plenty of billionaires interested in the future of technology. Those who were willing to fund legally questionable projects were fewer in number. But finding someone who would work with and support my dad . . . that was harder. Douglas Davenport wasn't known for his partnership skills. Besides, most people thought he was dead. It would take someone with a big wallet and plenty of patience to work with Dad.

_Muriel Jenkins - Entrepreneur, seller of illegal goods, billionaire. Wanted in fifteen states. Reputation for backstabbing and lying to get her way._

Not a good choice. Dad was too gullible. She could probably trick him into handing over all the research.

_Ed Steel - Vicious businessman, popular on the black market. Hates investing in new products._

Well, that went without saying. Bionics were new enough.

_Carlos "El Muerto" Barea - Cunning, wily, and greedy. Loves doing business with aspiring inventors. Gang leader. Known for killing people he doesn't like—he's also wanted in ten states for murder._

He wasn't worth the risk. I wasn't sure it would be a good idea for Dad to work with someone whose nickname was "The Dead."

Maybe Dad was right. There was no one who would give him the money to fund bionics. I tried to think of what that would mean for me. I would never reach my full potential. Dad wouldn't be able to give me new abilities or develop better uses for them. It might even mean that he would never be able to get my brothers and sister back. After all, if he didn't know what he was going to do with them—if he didn't know how to perfect the technology—then what was the point?

Maybe bionics were a lost cause.

Then again, maybe not.

I found one more man. A billionaire, interested in technology and knowledgeable about business. He seemed smart, cunning, and maybe even a bit devious. He had a reputation for his cold personality, but he was very good at helping a new product grow into something even more impressive. So long as he benefitted from the final product, he would be willing to pay for its development.

This could be the guy.

After a little more research, I was able to find his email address. It didn't take long for me to come up with the right words to say. It had to be a good sales pitch. Never mind that I was six years old; I was a bionic android. I could do this.

_Mr. Victor Krane,_

_My father has developed a product I think you might be interested in. It's so revolutionary to the field of technology that it has the potential to completely change the world as we know it. . . ._

* * *

"Dad!" I shouted. "Come in here!"

Dad walked into his office with his usual cup of morning coffee in his hands. "What, Marcus? And why are you in here?"

"I'm setting up a video call."

"Did you finally make friends?"

"No. But I think you're about to."

"Huh?"

"Sit down."

I pushed Dad into the chair and make the last connection on the computer screen. A man appeared on it. He had a cold, dead look in his eye and his bald head caught the gleam of the lights above him. It almost looked like he sat in a warehouse of some sort.

"Douglas Davenport?" he said.

"Mmm-hmm?" Dad said as he took a sip of his coffee.

"I'm Victor Krane. I'm prepared to offer you eighty million dollars to fund your bionic research."

Dad's eyes went wide and without warning, he spit his coffee all over the computer screen. Krane leaned back, his eyebrows knitted together. Dad wiped his mouth and said, "Erm, uh, sorry about that." He tried to wipe the coffee off the screen with his sleeve. "It's not working. Marcus, get me a paper towel!"

I nodded and ran into the kitchen. Leave it to my dad to mess something like this up. I got a paper towel and ran it under the sink to get it wet. When I came back into the office, Krane was still on the screen. Phew. Dad wiped off the rest of the coffee and muttered another apology.

"E-Eighty _million_ dollars?" he said.

"That's right. Your son emailed me about your research and it sounds quite fascinating."

"You really think so?"

"Yes. He told me about your bionic chips, and that you have a way to give ordinary humans super powers."

"Yes," Dad said, drawing out the word. He turned to glare at me for a split second. "The technology is raw; I only need the funds to develop it and find a way to make the bionics even better."

"I'm prepared to give you those funds. However, I do have some conditions."

"Of course," Dad muttered under his breath.

"You will pay me back all the money, of course. We can work out the details of how and when later. But I would also like you to share your work with me."

"Share my work?"

"Exactly. You tell me everything you know about bionics, and I'll give you the money. I become your partner in this job. We work together; we become a team."

"I don't know . . ."

"Come on, Dad!" I said. "The money is right in your lap. This is everything you wanted."

"Is that your son? Marcus?"

"Yes," Dad sighed.

"He's very young."

"He's gifted."

"Bionic?"

Dad froze. Out of the side of his mouth, he said to me, "You are grounded."

"I can keep a secret, Mr. Davenport," Krane said. "And we can work out all the details of our agreement later. I can tell you need time to think this over. But remember that I can make this project happen. We'll both benefit from this."

They spoke for a few more minutes, working out another time to talk and arrange the details of their agreement. When the call was over, Dad put one hand on the desk and pursed his lips.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Trying to decide whether to be mad at you or not." He stared right at me.

"I just solved your money problems with the bionics."

"You may have just gotten me a partnership with a maniac."

"You're a maniac."

Dad scowled. "But I do need the money. This Krane fellow seems like he's more than willing to give it to me. I'm just worried about sharing my research with other people."

"I'm sure it'll be fine, Dad. You know you need this!"

"I do." Dad sighed. "Why'd I have to design you so perfectly?"

I couldn't tell if that was a compliment for me or for himself. Most likely the latter.

There was something else I wondered. "Are you going to tell him about the other bionic projects?"

"No," Dad said slowly. "No. Not yet. He doesn't need to know about them yet. Besides, if he found out I lost them to my brother, he might not want to invest in me anymore. There are some things even a partner can't know."

"I think this is a good move."

"What would you know? You're six!"

"I'm the smartest six year old on the planet, remember?"

"Well, one of the smartest, anyway." Dad ran a finger over the top of his computer screen. "Hey, Marcus?"

"Hmm?"

"Uh . . . thanks. You're a pretty great kid."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Of course, it was all my programming. Oh man, I really am awesome!"

* * *

**Eh, maybe not so bad. Nah, pretty bad. Oh well.**

**"After I was booted from Davenport Industries, I needed cash to continue my research. Luckily, I found a billionaire who believed in me." Douglas had a good fifteen years to find this billionaire. If he needed to develop the research, it would've been not too long after he faked his death. It would've made sense if he formed his partnership with Krane sooner rather than later. And I thought the idea of Marcus putting the deal together was pretty unique. :3**

**Reviews are always nice. I know this chapter wasn't the best, but thanks for reading. With any luck, I'll be able to update WDF within the next few days. See you guys later! Bye!**


	3. Chapter 3

**No need to waste your time with excuses. Let's get on with it. I don't own Lab Rats, just anything you don't recognize. Enjoy!**

* * *

*** * * Chapter 3 * * ***

* * *

"This is our _house_?" I put the suitcase down beside me and looked around. The room was completely empty, and it smelled like fresh paint. There was no furniture yet, but Dad's old truck was outside filled with a few of our necessities.

Without thinking, I tore off my shoes and began skating around on the hardwood floor in my new socks. It was so slick! The living room was larger than the entire first floor of our old house.

"All right Marcus, don't get too excited." Dad put down his bags as well and walked over to the stairs, running his hand across the smooth banister. "If there's one thing I've learned in my life, it's to never get comfortable in one place."

With one motion I slid over to Dad. "But you weren't always a villain on the run from the government, right?"

"Nah, but my dad was a nutcase with a gambling problem who lost all our rent money on bets. I lost count of how many times we moved when it got to twelve . . . and that was when I was seven years old."

"Wow. I never knew that."

"Yup, Dad was pretty insane. Where do you think I got it from?" Dad grinned, but I could see a hint of sadness beneath the surface. "Anyway, go put your bag in your room and then I have to show you something really cool."

"Where's my room?"

"Up the stairs, first door on the right."

"Awesome. Thanks, Dad."

"Don't thank me. Thank Krane. He's the reason we can afford this place. You did a good job picking out a benefactor."

"So you're glad you accepted his offer?"

"Still not thrilled about having to share my research, but I do like having the money. Now, hurry up. We've got a lot of work to do on this place."

I nodded and hurried upstairs. When I got to my room, I let out a low whistle. It was twice the size of my old room, and there was even an attached bathroom. This would be sweet once I got my capsule and desk in here. Dad said we could probably get everything set up by the end of the week, and I sure hoped he was right. This place would look amazing once it was furnished.

Our new house was still in Denver, and not very far from our old one. We had bought it now that we had some more money. It was much larger, and Dad had mentioned something about having more space to work.

Once I had put my suitcase down and scouted out every nook and cranny of my room, I hurried back downstairs. Dad sat against the door, hand pressed to his forehead.

"Dad, are you okay?" I jumped off the last two steps and walked up to him.

"Fine," he grumbled. "Hey, super-strength, help me get the couch inside. That thing must weigh at least a hundred pounds."

"Wow, a whole hundred pounds," I said, rolling my eyes.

Dad stood up and pushed on my shoulder. "Come on."

Together we were able to drag the couch into the room—with me doing most of the work. I wasn't about to complain, though; at least I was able to use my bionics for something besides seeing how many pencils I could snap in thirty seconds.

We got everything out of Dad's truck, which wasn't a lot. There was the couch and the TV, as well Dad's bed and a few of our chairs—though we still didn't have a table for them to go around. Dad had chosen to move our stuff on his own. He said it would take a little while to get my capsule into my room, since he would have to dismantle most of it and set it back up again. Hopefully he could do it before I started glitching like crazy.

"Did you want to show me something?" I asked as we sat in our sparsely furnished living room.

"Huh?"

"You said that after I took my stuff up to my room you would show me something really cool."

"Oh, yeah. Come on."

Dad stood up and I followed him. He took me into the coat closet, which was big enough for at least four people to stand in, and closed the door. I didn't understand why we were in there, but Dad's smirking face told me that it was for a good reason.

At the back of the closet, Dad placed his hand on the center of the wall. The area around his hand glowed blue and a keypad appeared not far above his fingers. He typed in a sequence of numbers that I made sure to memorize. The wall pulled back to reveal a spiral staircase.

"Go on," Dad whispered in my ear.

Obediently I walked down the stairs. They didn't go down very far; only about one floor, if I had to estimate. At the bottom was a thick metal door with another keypad next to it. Dad leaned over and typed in a different number sequence, which I also memorized.

The door pulled back to reveal a large room full of all kinds of technology. Computers completely lined one wall. A large desk stood in the center. Near the back wall stood a cage-like structure, and my mouth opened wide. It was my capsule.

"Welcome to your bedroom," Dad said, clapping me on the back.

The room was amazing, but I felt a pang of sadness at the fact that I wouldn't get the awesome room upstairs. _Oh, come on! This place is so much better! _I told myself.

"You said you would have to set up my capsule again!" I said, walking over to it. The wire frames were perfectly in place, and the wires were all set up to charge and repair my bionics.

"I did. But now it's done."

"So I'm not staying upstairs?"

"Not all the time, and not at night. You'll sleep down here, but that can be your 'room' upstairs. If anyone ever comes over, you can tell them that's where you sleep. It'll be a lot less suspicious without a big metal structure in the center. You'll have a bed and everything."

"Really? That's neat!" And suddenly this arrangement didn't seem so bad.

"What do you think of Dad's new lab? Krane paid for all of it. This is some of the most sophisticated technology out there, and that means I'll be able to continue my bionic research. It also means I'll be able to properly train you now."

"Best. Day. Ever."

* * *

The ball bounced on the sidewalk and back up into my hand. I did it again, watching the red blur it left behind it. I could leave a much better blur with my super-speed, but I sat in a public spot. I couldn't do something like that here.

"Hey!" a voice called.

Startled, I dropped the ball and looked up. It was a human boy about my age, standing with his head cocked and a stupid grin slapped on his face.

"Hey," I said slowly.

"You're the new kid?"

"Um, I guess so."

"What's your name? Mine's Bradley, and it's spelled with an _e_."

"I'm Marcus."

"That's a funny name."

"It means 'hammer' or 'warlike' and was probably derived from the Roman god Mars."

"Oh. Well, some people call me Brad because they don't like adding 'ley' for some reason. But I like Bradley better." He looked up behind me. "This your house?"

"Yes. My dad and I just moved in yesterday."

"It's nice. So big. I live right over there." He pointed to the house across the street. "And maybe you can come over sometimes. I've got a Playstation!"

"Um, sure. Maybe. I don't know; my dad and I are busy a lot."

"What does your dad make you do?"

"He doesn't _make_ me do anything. Well, I mean, he does, but I want to help him. I'd rather help him than play."

Bradley titled his head. "You're weird."

Across the street, someone called Bradley's name. I felt greatly relieved. The boy turned to look at his house, then he turned back to me. "My mom's calling me," he said, as if I couldn't hear her myself. "It was nice meeting you, Marcus, even if you're really strange."

"Yeah, bye," I mumbled as he ran away.

When his back was turned and I made sure there was no one else around, I pulled the ball back to my hand with my molecularkinesis. I glanced around our new neighborhood. It was a good view from our front porch. I could clearly see Dad's truck as it came up and pulled into the driveway, with more furniture strapped down in the back.

Dad got out and came up to me, swinging his keyring around his finger. "Hey Marcus. What've you been doing?"

"Oh, bouncing a ball, making friends."

Dad's eyebrows rose. "Really?"

"Yeah, some kid came over from across the street and talked to me. Children are weird, Dad. And he had the audacity to call _me _weird. At least I know that Bradley has an _e _in it without him telling me! Why do humans have to be so strange?"

"Because we're imperfect. Well, the rest of them are, anyway. Speaking of kids, though, I've been meaning to tell you something Marcus. I think I'm going to enroll you at elementary school when it starts next month."

I hopped up from my seat on the porch. "What? No, Dad, you can't!"

"I think it would be a good experience for you. You'd be able to learn more about how _normal _people behave, plus it would be a great act. No one's going to suspect the loving dad who puts his first grader into public school."

"Right . . . who's the loving dad again?"

My father sent a teasing glare my way. "I've made up my mind, Marcus. Don't try argue your way out of it."

"But I already know pretty much everything there is to know about—"

"I said no arguments! You're going to school, and that's that. Now, come on. I need your help getting the rest of the stuff into the house."

I groaned. School! How could Dad be so cruel? Human kids freaked me out. They were so unintelligent and soft and naïve. And Dad would make me be in a class with thirty of them? No way I would like this.

As I helped Dad take our dining room table out of the truck, I let my sulking mood show him how upset I was.

* * *

**Eh, slower, but I kinda liked it. Who here likes Bradley? Suddenly you realize that Marcus is just a little kid, huh? I look forward to putting him in school. And yes, Bradley will be back. This will be a good lesson in writing six-year-olds . . . I'm not very good at that. (Maybe just act like I'm writing Adam?)**

**I don't know when the next update will be. I'll try to make it soon, but to be honest, I can't promise anything. I'm sorry for taking so long on some of my stories, but I do have news: This year and from now on, I won't post new stories until I've finished them entirely. That way you won't have to wait around for so long. I'll also work harder on updating the stories I haven't finished yet. Keep reviewing and reminding me, because I'm quite forgetful.**

**Also, please remember that ****_Robotic _****is similar to ****_Daddy's Little Lab Rats_**** in that the story is mostly a string of one-shots as opposed to a continued, multi-chapter story. Some of them will connect to each other, but for the most part, they're separate, which means updates will be a bit fewer and further between. But review anyway, and I hope you liked it. Thanks to all for reading, and hopefully the next update won't be too far away. Bye!**


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